


Gift of the Rabbit God

by RainyJane



Series: The Spiderbot Silhouette [3]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Robots, Romance, Survival, Wilderness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-18
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:47:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 15,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24601852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RainyJane/pseuds/RainyJane
Summary: Sam is seriously injured while saving Bucky during a battle. Hiding out in the wilderness, Bucky treats Sam's physical injuries while Sam helps him face the lingering psychological trauma from his years as the Winter Soldier. Through the ordeal, they find themselves growing closer.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Sam Wilson
Series: The Spiderbot Silhouette [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1797172
Comments: 20
Kudos: 66





	1. Baited

Firmly set are the rabbit nets,  
Hammered with a _ding, ding._  
Stout-hearted are the warriors,  
Shield and rampart of our elder and lord.

Firmly set are the rabbit nets,  
Spread where the paths meet.  
Stout-hearted are the warriors,  
Good comrades for our elder and lord.

Firmly set are the rabbit nets,  
Spread deep in the woods.  
Stout-hearted are the warriors,  
Belly and heart of our elder and lord.

~The Book of Songs, Poem 7, trans. Arthur Waley

* * *

Bucky had never seen T'Challa so agitated. He hid it well, maintaining a stoic poise. Someone who didn't know him as well as Bucky did might have missed it.

"Thank you for coming," he said across the table to Steve Rogers and Sam Wilson. "I know the Avengers are busy these days."

"The spiderbot attacks are keeping everyone on their toes," Steve said, "but after everything you and your country have done for us, if there's anything we can do to repay you, we will. Besides, I knew you wouldn't call us if it weren't important."

"It is. As you know, whoever is behind the robot attacks has been kidnapping some of the world's top scientists. Roboticists, computer developers, genetic engineers."

"Yeah. We've been able to stop some of the kidnapping attempts, but we haven't been able to track down where they're being taken," Sam mentioned.

"Yesterday, my sister Shuri disappeared after attending a conference in Prague. Spiderbots were seen in the city the same night. I believe she is the latest victim."

Steve was struck silent for a moment, suddenly understanding the urgent tone of T'Challa's summons. "I'm so sorry. How can we help?"

T'Challa brought up a hologram of satellite images. "A few hours after her disappearance, spy satellites caught something flying over a mountainous area in western China." He enlarged the image. It looked something like a helicopter, though it was clearly not a conventional aircraft. He swiped through a few images, showing the craft moving swiftly above the landscape. Then it was gone. "Switch to terrain view." Contour lines appeared over the satellite images. He went through the images again. This time it became apparent the craft was slowing, lowering, and navigating around mountains. It was aiming straight at the mountainside when it disappeared.

"It went into the mountain," Sam concluded.

"That's our conclusion. There's no way of knowing whether that's where they're holding my sister and the other scientists, other than going there and seeing for ourselves."

"I'm in," Steve said.

"Me too," said Sam.

"Thank you." T'Challa stood. "We leave now."


	2. Fell Swoop

The men of the Wu people and Yue people  
hate each other,  
Yet when they're in the same boat  
crossing a river  
and run into a windstorm,  
they come to each other's rescue  
like a left and right hand.

~from Sun Tzu's _The Art of War_ , Chapter 11

* * *

The Wakandan jet flew over the rugged peaks of the Tian Shan range, their snow-covered crags shining in the light of a nearly full moon.

T'Challa was in the pilot seat. Sam watched out the windows. Bucky kept readjusting his bionic arm.

"You sure you up for this?" Steve asked him quietly.

"I'm sure I'm going to do anything I can to save Shuri." He glanced at T'Challa. "I owe her and Wakanda everything. I'm up for this."

"We're getting close," T'Challa announced.

They slowed and circled around the mountain where the mystery aircraft disappeared. There were no obvious entrances, no anomalous readings.

"We can't risk shooting at the mountain," T'Challa said. "We get out and find an entrance on foot."

They landed the cloaked jet behind a nearby ridge. The Black Panther led the way through the deep snow.

"We split up," he instructed them. "Keep in communication. If you find an entrance, wait for the rest of us."

The attack came even earlier than they expected. Four spiderbots, bigger than any they'd seen before, rose up from beneath the snow. Too big to fly, they towered above their foes on long, spindly metal legs.

T'Challa rushed at the nearest spiderbot. Bullets bounced harmlessly off the vibranium Black Panther suit.

Steve threw his shield. It lodged in the midsection of one of the bots, then took a chunk of metal out of it when he summoned it back.

Sam flew above the fray, laying down cover fire.

"We've got two more coming, from the southeast and northwest. I see a light on the hillside to the northwest; I think it's an entrance to an underground structure." He did a spin to dodge incoming ordinance, then opened fire on the pursuing spiderbot.

Bucky shot at the underside of another one. He heard bullets bouncing off metal. He needed a clearer view to determine the best place to aim. He threw a flare and by its light aimed for the shifting joints where the legs attached to the body. One of the bullets damaged something crucial, and one leg froze up. The bot began tipping over, damaged but still a threat.

He leaped toward it, followed by a hail of fire, and punched his vibranium arm through its shell, peeling off a strip of metal.

He caught sight of T'Challa and Steve teaming up against one of the giant spiderbots while Sam distracted another.

Bucky tore a wire out of the one he was fighting, then tossed a miniature explosive inside it and leaped away before it exploded. The smoking shell fell to the ground.

Steve and T'Challa had taken out another one. There were still four left. Strategically, they should retreat. Bucky scanned for an escape route. There was a boulder field down the slope. The bots wouldn't be able to follow them through it.

"T'Challa," he said over the comm. "We need to retreat. I'll lay down cover fire, the rest of you get down the mountain."

"We're not leaving until we find my sister, and no one's getting left behind."

Bucky wasn't surprised by his decision. He didn't waste any more breath arguing about it. He leaped off a boulder on top of one of the bots.

One of its legs twisted up and around, stabbing at him. He dodged it while trying to punch through the bot's shell. He clung to the bot as it swung around, trying to shake him off. As long as it was attacking him, it wasn't attacking the others.

The spiderbot suddenly stopped attacking him, and instead started moving. It climbed up a cliff, leaving Bucky dangling, clutching the hole he'd punched in the bot's shell. The giant spiderbot climbed sideways around a cliff, moving away from the fight. It let go of the rock face with the two arms upslope and began falling upside down. It was going to fall down the cliff. It would destroy the bot, but crush him in the process. Super strength or not, Bucky didn't think that was something he would survive.

Swinging beneath the falling bot, he let go, launching himself at the sheer cliff hoping to find a handhold once he hit it. After a second or two of being airborne hundreds of feet above jagged rocks, he slammed into the cliff and grasped it with his metal arm, stopping his fall with a jolt.

He looked back. The bot was still falling, but he saw gun turrets emerge from its central node, aiming at him. Time seemed to slow down. He watched bullets explode from the falling bot, on a trajectory to tear through him.

He hoped death would at least be quick.

And then a blur of red and black moved in front of him. The Falcon spun, deflecting the bullets with his wings.

The spiderbot tumbled down the mountainside. And so did Falcon. The bullets had damaged his suit. Bucky grabbed for him with his free hand, but a split second too late. Falcon folded his wings around himself in an attempt to shield himself from the impact. He bounced off rock, was airborne for a few seconds, then plunged into a snowbank, which collapsed with the impact. The Falcon was lost to sight in seconds in an avalanche that roared up the mountainside, swallowing up the echoes of the spiderbot smashing against the rocks further below.

When the avalanche fell still, Bucky watched for a minute, looking for any movement to indicate life beneath the mass of snow and rock. There was nothing.

He climbed up to the top of the ridge. The wreckage of three spiderbots lay scatteted across the mountainside. The other two were gone. So were Steve and T'Challa.

Bucky walked down to examine the battlefield. Steve's shield lay abandoned in the snow. Footprints told the rest of the story: after the bot Bucky was fighting took him out of play, the other three had taken out one more of the bots. That was probably when Falcon went after him, probably on Steve or T'Challa's orders. One of the remaining bots had cannonballed into Steve, crushing him into a snowbank. T'Challa had run after him, but had been intercepted by the other bot. Somehow, they had both been restrained and taken.

Bucky fell to the ground, breathing heavily. He was the only one left to fight, but he didn't know what to do. Steve was his best friend, and T'Challa had become like a brother to him; he wanted to go after them. But Sam Wilson had risked his life to save him. There was a chance he was still alive, but if he was it wouldn't be for long.

He made his decision and got to his feet.


	3. Exigency

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for animal death by hunting.

"The Rabbit is quick-witted, cautious, skillful, long-lived, and virtuous"

~Chinese zodiac

* * *

Sam was surprised he was still conscious when he stopped moving. He took stock of his chances of survival. The wings of the Falcon suit had created an air pocket, so he wasn't likely to suffocate before hypothermia killed him. There was an intense pain in his right hand. It was too dark to see, but he could feel blood dripping down his fingers. He was facing downward and couldn't move enough to elevate the hand, so gravity was pulling blood to the open wound. If it was as bad as it felt, he might die of blood loss before hypothermia.

Ignoring the pain, he moved his hand enough to clutch a handful of snow. The pressure and the cold might at least slow the bleeding.

With his uninjured hand and his feet he tried to push against the weight around him. It only led to snow coming loose and falling into the air pocket.

The cold was beginning to seep into him.

The others would find him as soon as the battle was over, he told himself. Bucky had seen where he fell. He might not like him very much, but he wouldn't leave him to die. Once they defeated the spiderbots, Bucky would tell the others where he was and Steve would come dig him out.

He reminded himself of that fact over and over.

His extremities went numb. He wasn't even sure if he was putting pressure on the gash in his hand anymore. He lost track of time. Had it been minutes or hours that he'd been trapped?

The darkness seemed to glow. It seemed to move. Sam tried to remember the symptoms of hypothermia. Shivering, confusion, mistaking the feeling of cold for heat. Was hallucination one of them? Or was that hypoxia? Or hypovolemia?

The darkness was starting to look blue. He thought he could make out a shadow.

And then fresh, cold air flooded in around him, along with moonlight. He looked up, seeing someone in silhouette. The figure was shovelling snow with a shield.

"Cap?" Sam asked. His own voice sounded slowed and muffled, like he was hearing it through water.

The man dropped the shield and pulled him out of the hole. He identified Bucky by his metal arm even before he could make out his features in the moonlight. He saw Bucky's lips move, but couldn't make out what he said. He shook his head.

Bucky lay him out on the snow and looked him over, checking for broken bones. He held up his right hand, examining the deep gash across his palm. Sam couldn't see the wound clearly himself, but could tell from the concern on Bucky's face that it was bad.

He didn't know when he lost consciousness, but the next thing he knew the sun was up, and Bucky was dripping warm water between his lips.

He was next to a fire, propped up against a snow bank with an emergency blanket wrapped around his shoulders. His hand was wrapped firmly in a bandage. The bowl Bucky held to his lips was the collapsible camping bowl from his own emergency supplies.

He took the cup with his left hand and drank the rest of the warm water. He was still hypothermic. He wasn't shivering. That was a bad sign.

"How long was I out?" he asked.

"Five hours."

They were no longer on the bare mountainside. They were surrounded by snow-covered trees, on the sunny side of a narrow valley.

"Where are Cap and T'Challa?" Even as he asked the question, Sam was gripped by the terrible feeling that he wasn't going to like the answer.

"After the avalanche, I went back to help them, and they were gone. It looks like they were captured."

"Captured? And you didn't go after them?"

Bucky looked at him evenly. "If they're alive, it's likely they'll be held for ransom, which means they have time. If they didn't survive, there's nothing I could do for them. On the other hand, there was a chance I could save you in time. It was the only choice."

Logically, he was right, Sam had to admit. But he hated not knowing if Cap was alive or not.

"Thanks," he said.

Bucky frowned at him. "You saved me. You risked your life to save me. Why thank me?"

"Because I can guess how much you wanted to go after Steve instead."

He didn't disagree.

Sam looked at his hand. He felt weak. If he tried to stand, he would probably pass out again.

Bucky looked up. "Don't move."

Moments later, a flying spiderbot passed over the valley. It disappeared over the next hill.

"I don't know if they're looking for me, looking for our jet, or just on a standard patrol," Bucky said. "They come around about once an hour. They haven't spotted us, but it's too risky to go back to the jet in daylight."

"We gotta get some shelter before dark," Sam said.

"We need to keep you warm, and we need food," Bucky replied. He moved a stack of firewood next to him. "Keep the fire going. I'll be back soon."

"Where are you going?"

"Hunting."

* * *

Bucky didn't like leaving Sam, but he knew Sam was in no shape to travel. That's why he hadn't even asked. Sam would probably have claimed to be able to walk, but he hadn't seen the snow dyed red with his blood. He hadn't seen the bones of his hand in the gash across his palm. He might not even realize how dire his situation was.

But maybe he did; he had said they would need shelter before dark. He hadn't sounded panicked or depressed, but maybe he understood he wasn't likely to make it to another dawn if they didn't.

The cold wasn't a danger to Bucky. As the Winter Soldier, he'd trained in Siberia in the dead of winter. He'd survived being frozen solid. But Sam didn't have the advantage of supersoldier blood. Hypothermia could easily kill him. He would need a fire to survive the night, but an open fire would give away their location. With or without a fire, his body would need calories to keep up its core temperature.

As Bucky walked over the snow-covered ground, he kept his eyes open for any possible food source: the needles of the spruce trees that dominated this forest were edible, high in fiber and vitamin c, but low in calories. Fallen trees might harbor termites, high in fat and protein.

He saw some rabbit tracks. It was early enough in the winter that a rabbit would probably still have a good reserve of fat. He followed the tracks, which led up the slope toward the open ground of the mountainside. If the tracks led there, he wouldn't follow. At least not for long.

He spotted the rabbit up ahead, perfectly still and blending in to the snow. He slowly lowered down, taking out his handgun. Before he could take aim, the rabbit started moving, hopping through the snow. It didn't seem to think it was in danger, judging by how slowly it was going.

Bucky followed at a distance, stalking it rather than chasing it.

The rabbit stopped to nibble on tree bark. Bucky lowered himself out of sight and crept behind some bushes. When he raised his head again, the rabbit sensed movement and froze, counting on its camouflage to protect it. Moving only his hands, which were below the rabbit's line of sight, he took aim. He would have one shot. Air was still, target small but stationary.

He pulled the trigger.

The bullet took the rabbit in the head, killing it instantly. He listened for a minute, worried that the shot might draw the attention of any spiderbots in the vicinity. But the day was silent.

He walked up to the spasming body of the rabbit.

"I'm sorry," he said to it. "I wouldn't have killed you without a good reason. Someone's life is on the line."

As he reached out for the rabbit, he caught sight of a dark shadow on the nearby hillside. He looked again.

It was a cave.

Shelter.


	4. Evening Conversation

The Moon Rabbit creeps along the boundaries of the osmanthus trees,  
The expanding winter fills the contours of the cosmos.  
How can we comprehend what's beyond the clear sky?  
It is a small circle within the greatest circle.

~Hong Li, "The Moon Rabbit"

* * *

Sam felt awkward letting Bucky carry him through the snowy woods, but it allowed him to hold his hand more or less still. And, he admitted to himself, he didn't have the energy to walk on his own through the knee-deep snow. Honestly, he probably didn't have the energy to walk, period.

Bucky had built a fire in the cave before going back for Sam. He'd arranged rocks into a circle for a firepit, and had found a large, flat piece of slate to perch over the fire as a makeshift hotplate. He went to work butchering the rabbit, laying strips of meat on the hot slate to roast.

Sam sat near the fire. Even with how much warmer the cave was, he still felt cold. He felt like the cold was inside him. He hurt everywhere. He hadn't checked for bruises, but he was sure he had dozens of them. He could only hope there wasn't any internal bleeding. If there was, he wasn't going to survive.

He suppressed that thought.

"You really know how to make a cave feel like home," he commented, watching Bucky skillfully flip a strip of meat.

"I've slept in my share of them."

"Sorry."

Bucky looked at him curiously. "Why are you sorry?"

"I'm sorry you've had the kind of life that made sleeping in caves something you'd get used to."

He didn't reply to that. He picked up several small rocks from around the cave and set them in the fire, then he took Sam's bowl outside, scooped up snowballs, and squeezed them in his metal hand until they melted and dripped into the bowl. Back in the cave, he picked the hot rocks out of the fire and dipped them in the water in the bowl, sending up a hiss of steam with each one, until the water was hot.

"Drink this," he said, putting the bowl to Sam's lips. "We need to get your core temperature up."

"Thanks." Sam sipped the hot water gratefully. He paused to make a joke. "You happen to have any cocoa mix for this?"

"I'll check the pantry," he replied, deadpan.

Sam smiled, glad Bucky could still make a joke.

Bucky returned to the fire to check on the meat. The smell of roasting rabbit made Sam's stomach grumble, reminding him he hadn't eaten in over twenty-four hours.

Taking another piece of slate to use as a plate and using two similar-sized twigs as chopsticks, Bucky picked off the organ meat and took it to Sam.

"Heart, liver, kidneys... You're spoiling me."

"It's high in iron," Bucky said. "You've lost a lot of blood."

"It's also high in calories, and if your metabolism's anything like Cap's, you must be starving."

"I'll be fine," Bucky said insistently.

Sam didn't have the energy to argue. He started with the liver, thinking it was the most delicious thing he'd ever tasted.

"Good thing you're not squeamish," Bucky said.

"Yeah, well, with the places I've been, I've eaten way weirder stuff than rabbit innards."

"I forgot. You were Special Forces before becoming an Avenger."

"Yeah. That was a long time ago. But I was thinking of all the local delicacies Nat dared us to try when we were on the run. She got us all balut once. Steve and Wanda wouldn't touch it."

"Huh. I'm not surprised."

Bucky went out to get some more firewood before sitting down to eat.

"How visible is the fire from outside the cave?" Sam asked.

"Not very. It's a full moon tonight. It's bright enough that the light from the fire isn't noticeable."

"That's lucky."

"Yeah it is," Bucky agreed.

"I had a friend in Afghanistan who said he'd always seen a rabbit in the dark spots on the moon."

"Where was your friend from?"

"Alabama. But his family came from India."

Bucky nodded like that explained it. "It's pretty common in a lot of Asia to see a rabbit in the moon. There are legends about it. The rabbit is up there cooking an elixir of life." He frowned like he was trying to remember the details. "Or maybe rice cakes?"

"Well, you need to eat to live, so I guess any food can be called an elixir of life."

Bucky smiled. "True."

"I never did see a man in the moon. Next time I'm out at night, I'll see if I can see a rabbit." Sam couldn't avoid the thought that he might not get a next time. The food and water and warmth of the cave were helping, he insistently told himself, but his pain was increasing as the numbness subsided. He was especially worried about his right hand. There were different kinds of pain: soreness, aching, and healing pains, and then there was bad pain, the kind that screams at you that something in your body has gone terribly wrong. His right hand was that kind of pain.

"There's another Chinese legend about the Old Man of the Moon," Bucky commented. "He goes around tying red threads around people destined to fall in love, or something like that."

It took a moment for Sam to remember what they'd been talking about. "You know a lot of Chinese legends?"

"I spent a lot of time in China in the Sixties. HYDRA was...really invested in some experiments they had going there. I bought dumpling soup from an old lady in a village in Qinghai. She loved to talk to me. She said it was the first time she'd been able to practice her English in years. She told me lots of stories."

He sounded wistful and sad when he talked about it. Sam wondered what it had been like, a friendly old woman talking at a brainwashed assassin who might not have even been able to talk back.

"I see."

"Speaking of rabbits," Bucky said like he wanted to change the subject, "there's the Rabbit God. He's another matchmaker, the patron and protector of gays."

Sam paused just as he was about to eat the rabbit's heart. "Of gays?"

"Yeah. Homosexuals."

"Some people have a god for everything."

"Seems like it." Bucky put some more meat in front of Sam and started breaking open the bones to get out the marrow.

"Where did you learn about the Rabbit God?"

"A speech by a Taiwanese politician I assassinated," he answered reluctantly.

"Why did you assassinate him?"

"HYDRA didn't tell me. They never told me." He picked at his food.

"Man, that's terrible."

"Yes," Bucky agreed.

He sounded so dejected, Sam wanted to change the subject. Trying to take a tone of levity, he said, "I know you're from a different time. How do you feel about gay people?"

"Fine," he replied. "Ashamed, actually."

"Why ashamed?"

"Back in the day, I said some things I'm not proud of. Jokes, slurs. We didn't use the word 'gay' back then. 'Invert' was about the politest term we had. But things are different now. Science and social norms have advanced. But most of all..."

"What?"

He shrugged. "I'm a murderer. I don't have the right to judge anyone else, especially for something that doesn't hurt anyone."

"Well that's better than nothing. Just so you know, I'm gay." He watched Bucky's reaction carefully. His regard for him right now could be a matter of life or death.

He showed only mild surprise. "I didn't know that."

"I didn't think you did, but when you brought up the Rabbit God, I wondered. I thought Cap might've told you."

"Steve knows?"

"He knows, Wanda knows, Widow knows. That's the kind of thing that comes up in conversation when you're stuck with the same people for two years. Plus, it's really hard to keep secrets from a spy and a mind-reader."

"I'm guessing Steve was a little more oblivious?"

"He was surprised. And a little hurt that I'd kept it from him for so long, since dates and complaining about relationships and exes are the kind of thing friends are supposed to talk to each other about."

"I can see that." Bucky looked wistful for a moment. "I've been meaning to apologize, by the way. You were declared criminals because of me. I'm sorry."

"Hey, I was declared a criminal because doing what's right is more important than doing what's legal. It's not on you."

Bucky shrugged. "Still..."

They finished eating in silence, then Bucky melted more snow and heated it, steeping spruce needles to make tea. After they drank it, he added some more dry boughs to the fire to give the cave more light. He knelt by Sam.

"Let me see your hand."

Sam held out his injured hand. Bucky slowly, carefully took off the bandaging, holding his hand as still as he could. Taking the last disinfectant wipe from Sam's emergency supplies, he dabbed off the dried blood to see the wound better.

"It's bad," Sam stated.

"Yeah."

He licked his lips before asking, "Will we need to amputate?"

"There's...a loose patch of skin on your palm."

The lack of an instant 'no' was worrying.

"It necrotizing?" Sam asked.

"A little. I'm going to...I'm going to cut it off. If the bacteria spreads..."

"I know." He'd seen enough wartime injuries. "I've got antibiotics in my first-aid kit. I'll start them tonight. But let's get the dead skin off first."

Bucky boiled some more water to prep for surgery. When that was done, he held a knife over the fire to sterilize the blade.

"I wouldn't watch if I were you," he suggested as he steadied Sam's hand in his metal palm.

Sam looked away.

"Let me know when your ready."

"Just get it over with." He felt a sharp flash of pain as the knife tugged the inflamed skin. He bit his lip.

"You okay?" Bucky asked.

"Yeah. I'm good. Could you talk to me? Give me something else to focus on?"

"Sure. What do you want me to talk about?"

"Whatever. You could tell me anything else you know about gods or rabbits."

"So you know how I said I heard about the Rabbit God? Since I...since I woke up from what HYDRA did to me, I've been reading up on the people I killed, trying to figure out why HYDRA wanted them dead, learning about their lives, their work. I guess it's some kind of penance."

"That doesn't sound healthy."

"Maybe not. But that's how I came to read the speech the Taiwanese political reformer made about the traditionalist case for celebrating diversity. There was an Indiginous rights activist I assassinated in Guatemala in the Nineties. A few months ago, I looked up a talk she gave on the internet. She talked about the religious beliefs of the Ainu, the Indiginous people of northern Japan..."

Sam winced with a sudden flash of pain, and felt a warm fluid gush over his hand.

"Sorry," Bucky breathed.

"Is that blood?"

"No. It's pus. Don't look."

Sam was tempted to look at it, almost sure it couldn't be as bad as he was imagining. But if it was worse than he was imagining, seeing it might make it hurt more, and he didn't want to risk throwing up. "Keep talking. What about the religious beliefs?"

"The traditional Ainu religious belief about hunting is that the animal you hunt is a gift from the god of that animal. The hunter needs to show gratitude for the gift if they want successful hunts in the future. So maybe the rabbit I caught was a gift from the Rabbit God to keep you alive."

"It's a nice thought."

Bucky got a wet cloth he'd boiled in the water and cleaned Sam's hand, then carefully dried it with a dry cloth, which he used to put gentle pressure on the wound until it stopped bleeding. He slowly and carefully wrapped it with guaze from Sam's first-aid kit.

His hand felt better already. It was still painful, but it felt like a healthier kind of pain.

"You're good at this."

"I've treated a lot of wounds," Bucky replied. "Mostly mine, it's a lot easier doing it for someone else."

"Still, thanks. If we end up having to cut it off...I'm sure you'll be quick about it."

Bucky glanced up at him and managed a weak smile. "We'll be rescued before it comes to that."

It was a hollow reassurance; they didn't have anyone who knew where to find them, or that they were still alive.

"Yeah, you're right," Sam said, playing along with the unwarranted optimism.

"I'm going to keep you alive. I promise."

Sam smiled. "Thanks, but I'm not going to hold you to that. Not like I could, anyway."

Bucky actually laughed. "That's true. But I promise I'll try." He released Sam's injured hand.

Using Captain America's shield to dig a shallow depression in the cave floor, he spread glowing embers from the fire in the hole and covered them over with dirt. He banked the fire, then helped Sam to the warm spot and lay down next to him, spreading the emergency blanket over both of them.

"You're going to sleep with me?" Sam asked jokingly.

"I'm not confident you have enough energy to keep your own internal body temperature up," he replied. Then he added a joke. "Besides, I don't think you'll try anything; I know I'm not exactly a great catch."

"Are you kidding? Steve says you were always a huge hit with the ladies."

"That was before I became the world's most notorious assassin."

"I think the Black Widow would fight you for that title."

"She was a for-hire; I killed for HYDRA."

Sam looked at him, his face softly illuminated by the moonlight from the mouth of the cave. "You were brainwashed to kill for HYDRA," he said solemnly. "You weren't a murderer, you were a zombie."

"Can we stop talking about this and go to sleep?"

Sam smirked. "Yeah. Sure."

Between the warmth radiating up through the dirt beneath them and the warmth of Bucky's high-metabolism supersoldier body, and the reassuring light of the moon (he could just see it out the mouth of the cave; it really did look like a there was a rabbit stirring something in a pot) he felt like he would actually survive the night.


	5. Hunted

狡兔三窟  
"A cunning rabbit has three dens."  
~Chinese proverb

* * *

Bucky woke when the first light of dawn brightened the cave. He could hear Sam breathing beside him. It was a reassuring sound.

He slipped out from under the blanket, careful not to wake him. He went to work building the fire back up. He'd have to gather more firewood soon, and look for more food.

Once the cave started to warm up, he prepared to venture out into the dawn. He checked on Sam again. He was still sleeping deeply. The firelight danced on his face.

Bucky paused. He was reluctant to leave Sam alone in his state. He softly placed his hand on his forehead to check for either a fever or lingering hypothermia. His temperature was normal.

He drew his hand away and watched him for another moment to see if he would wake up.

Sam really was an exceptionally handsome man. Bucky had noticed that before, shortly after he woke up with his metal arm in a vice to find Steve and Sam guarding him, trying to decide what to do with him. Sam was a good man: devoted, brave, firm in his resolve to do what he believed was right no matter who told him not to.

Bucky was going to keep him alive. That wasn't a promise, it was a resolution. He'd keep Sam alive or die trying.

The air outside the cave was a good fifteen degrees below zero Fahrenheit. Even with his superhuman cold tolerance, it was still extremely unpleasant. He set out through the woods. Down the slope, he looked back at the cave. The mouth was glowing with the warm light of the fire. It looked welcoming and inviting against the early morning's blue gloom. He fervently hoped that warm glow wouldn't betray them.

He followed the frozen creek downstream, hoping he could find fish, or the tracks of animals that might have come down looking for water.

The sky grew brighter, but the sun wasn't yet peeking over the canyon wall when he heard the low whirring of a spiderbot. He ducked under a stout spruce just as the bot came in sight, flying low.

He remained hidden, nothing moving but his breath. He didn't move his head to look, but heard the bot circle back and come in lower

The bots kept in communication with each other, he knew. If he destroyed this one, it would alert the network that he was there.

He heard the bot move behind a nearby tree. He calculated its speed and trajectory, and took the risk of leaving his hiding place to slide down the slope to the frozen stream. He walked along the ice, where he would leave no prints.

He heard the bot suddenly accelerate and change direction. It must have spotted the trail he'd left in the snow from the tree to the stream. He put on a burst of speed just as a line of bullet holes peppered the riverbank beside him.

He ran in a zigzag, making it more difficult for the bot to predict where to aim. Abruptly the ground stopped ahead of him: he found himself at the top of a frozen waterfall with a small lake below.

The bot was still behind him.

If he destroyed it, they'd send more to look for him, and those bots might find Sam.

This bot would have no reason to believe Bucky wasn't alone; it would have no indication that Sam had survived.

Bucky dove off the frozen waterfall, his metal fist leading the way. It broke the ice, and he plunged into the frigid water. A trail of bullets followed him, but he made no attempt to dodge them, trusting the resistence of the water to slow them.

He'd been taught that long ago: when assassinating someone, don't shoot while they're under water. Wait for them to surface for breath and shoot them in the head.

Hopefully the bot wasn't programmed to know that.

He swam under the ice. The cold was excruciatingly painful, but he knew it wouldn't kill him.

Drowning could, though.

He swam past some small fish and jutting rocks, back toward the frozen waterfall. His lungs began to burn. There was, as he'd hoped, a dip in the cliff behind the waterfall, hollowed out by years of pounding spray. He found bare rock, got a firm grip with his feet, and punched upward. He had to punch the ice three times before it broke. He bobbed his head to the surface and took a gasp, then ducked back under.

There were no bullets.

He surfaced again. He was in a narrow air pocket between the wall of ice and the wall of rock. He stayed there, treading water even after he could no longer feel his limbs. Then he broke his way out.

The bot was gone. It had given him up for dead.


	6. Breakthrough

As the moon sinks on the mountain-edge  
The fishermen's lights flicker  
Far out on the dark wide sea.

When we think that we alone  
Are steering our ships at midnight,  
We hear the splash of oars  
Far beyond us.

Anonymous, Manyoshu 3623-4, from _1000 Poems from the Manyoshu_

* * *

Sam woke alone. The fire was burning low, and sunlight was shining in the mouth of the cave. The air on his face was chill, but not painfully cold, and the emergency blanket tucked around him was warm.

He sat up, finding he was tired and weak and in pain everywhere, but at least he was mobile. He didn't think he had broken bones, which was a minor miracle. Unless something was broken in his right hand; he wouldn't be able to tell the pain of broken bones from the pain of mangled skin.

He looked at his hand. There were patches of blood that had soaked through the gauze bandage, but it didn't look fresh. He didn't dare unwrap it to check.

He stood and walked to the mouth of the cave. He saw Bucky's footprints in the snow, saw where he had gathered firewood and brought it back to the cave before setting off into the forest.

After a quick trip to some nearby bushes, Sam returned to the cave and sat close to the fire. He added a few branches from the pile.

It had been a day and a half since the battle. He tried not to think about what might have happened to Steve.

He wondered if Bucky had gone out hunting or if he'd gone back up the mountain to try to find out what happened to Steve and T'Challa. He decided Bucky probably wouldn't take that risk in broad daylight, and without even saying where he was going.

Bucky had saved his life. It still seemed weird to think about. Sure, Sam had saved him first, but that was different. It was one thing to rush in to save a comrade in arms in the heat of battle, another to go back for them when you have no reason to think they're still alive, dig them out of an avalanche, and nurse them back to health, especially since Bucky could have gone back for Steve and T'Challa, or left to get help, either of which would have been rational choices, even if they would have resulted in Sam's certain death.

And he could easily still die. If anything happened to Bucky, he wasn't likely to survive on his own in the state he was in.

They had never gotten along, even after Bucky stopped actively trying to kill him. There was just something about him that rubbed him the wrong way. He wondered why.

He slowly fed the fire, staying close to its warmth, deep in wandering thoughts. And then he heard a whirring—the sound of a flying spiderbot.

He moved in front of the fire, grateful that he'd kept it so small in an effort to make the firewood last as long as possible. He hoped the cave was dim enough that the spiderbot wouldn't spot him. He hoped it wasn't equipped with an infrared sensor.

The sound grew louder. He held still, not daring to turn around and look, in case the movement drew its attention.

The sound began to grow quieter. Only when it faded to silence was he able to relax and breathe freely.

Bucky was out there somewhere. He would probably be able to hide from the bot, Sam assured himself.

He was surprised to realize he was actually worried for him.

* * *

It was late afternoon when Bucky made his way back to the cave. He walked in carrying two fish and an armload of firewood. He was covered hair to boots in caked ice.

"What happened to you?"

"I came across a bot," Bucky answered. "I lost it in a lake."

"Damn. You look like hell. Sit down by the fire."

Bucky looked at the fire, and the pile of dried sticks next to it. "You've been out," he said disapprovingly.

"I didn't know when you'd be back, and I didn't want to freeze to death."

Bucky nodded. "How's the hand?"

"It's fine. I didn't gather anything I couldn't carry one-handed," Sam replied.

Bucky laid the fish on the slate above the fire to cook, then sat down with his back to the fire. "I want to take a look at your hand."

Sam held his hand out. Bucky took off the bandage, cradling Sam's hand in his metal hand and using the other to gently feel around the scabbing. There wasn't the heat, swelling, or redness that would indicate a resurging infection.

"It looks...as good as we can hope for," Bucky said. "How does it feel?"

Sam frowned at his hand. "It hurts like hell, but better than yesterday."

"That's good." Bucky wrapped his hand in fresh gauze, then lightly brushed the tip of Sam's index finger. "Do you feel that?"

"Yeah."

He tested each of Sam's fingers, and was relieved by Sam's assurances that he had sensation in all of them.

When he was done, Bucky's metal hand cradled Sam's injured hand for an unnecessary second before he let it go.

"I'm going to get more firewood. Can you watch the fish?"

"Yeah," Sam answered as Bucky left the cave.

Bucky gathered enough firewood to last a couple of days, then he tore branches off some trees to weave into a door for the cave to provide some insulation and make sure the light of the fire wouldn't be visible from outside.

When that was done, he tried to think of something else he could do to keep him out of the cave.

He'd felt something when he held Sam's hand. Something he wasn't supposed to feel, toward anyone.

He was a killer. Hell, he'd tried to kill _Sam_. He didn't deserve...

He wouldn't even think about it. He was going to keep Sam alive, they were going to get out of this, that was all.

It had begun to snow by the time Bucky got back to the cave. He pulled the spruce-branch door into the cave mouth until it was wedged tight.

"Looking good," Sam said. "The fish is done if you want one."

Bucky turned and flashed him a smile. "Thanks."

They ate in silence for a while.

"Can I ask you something?" he asked Sam.

"Of course."

"You flew between me and a bullet. Why?"

Sam looked at him with surprise, like he'd forgotten—or expected Bucky to forget—the reason they were there, the incident that had lost Sam the use of his right hand, and nearly his life.

"Because that's what soldiers do," Sam stated. "They protect each other."

"You had to realize how risky that maneuver was."

"I didn't even think about it. The alternative was standing back and watching you die."

"After everything I've done, I'm surprised you didn't choose that option. Including everything I've done to you."

Sam looked at him for a moment with an expression he couldn't read. "I'm not going to pretend I don't get where you're coming from. I've seen so many cases like you. Hell, I've been there. So many soldiers come back with something. They followed orders and killed people they think they didn't need to kill. They didn't follow orders and people died. They made a split-second judgment call that turned out wrong. They had to watch friends die and there was just nothing they could do. Everyone comes back with something."

"I murdered a lot of people."

"You were forced. You were brainwashed and used. You weren't the killer, just the gun that they aimed."

"That's not how it feels," Bucky said.

Sam stood up, walked over to him, and sat down in front of him, fixing him with an earnest stare. "I know that's not how it feels, but that's how it was. Forgiving yourself is a process. It will take years. But it's possible. A lot of people think it starts with making a decision, but that's not always how it works. What you say enough becomes what you think, and what you think enough becomes what you believe. I want you to try something: I want you to say, out loud, 'It's not my fault'."

"Just that? Just 'It's not my fault'?"

"That's right. I want to hear you saying it."

"I just did," Bucky said.

"No, you quoted me saying it. I want you to say it as you."

"Even if I say it, I don't think I'll ever believe it."

"You'll never know if you don't try. Say it."

"It's..." Bucky hesitated. The words felt unnatural, it felt downright ungrammatical. "It's not...my fault."

"Say it again."

"It's not my fault." It came more easily to his lips the second time, like he'd broken through a barrier preventing him from articulating the words. "It's not my fault."

"That's good," Sam said approvingly. "I want you to repeat that out loud to yourself every day."

"For how long?"

"The rest of your life."

"That sounds like a lot of commitment," Bucky joked.

Sam shrugged. "I do it. I lost my wingman on a mission. Riley. There was nothing I could've done to save him. I loved the guy like a brother, and I'll always miss him, but his death is not my fault, and I have to keep reminding myself of that."

"That's different."

"Everyone's baggage is a little different. That doesn't mean we can't give each other tips on how to carry it."

Bucky met his eyes and held them for a long moment. Something stirred inside him. He wasn't sure if he felt like crying or hugging him.

Before he could decide to do anything, Sam continued. "You're not the same person you were five years ago. No one is. Everyone changes. You can't expect to be the same person you are now five years from now. You might be someone who's forgiven himself, someone who found a way to live with his past. When you feel like you don't have anything else, hold onto that."

Bucky dropped his eyes. Sam didn't volunteer any more advice. They turned their attention back to their fish dinner and finished eating in silence.

"You should get out of those wet clothes," Sam suggested. "You can wear the blanket until they dry."

He was right, of course. Bucky had been hoping his clothes would dry on him, but there was no way they'd dry tonight if he didn't hang them up. He took the blanket, turned away from Sam, and started peeling off his clothes, hanging them over rocks near the fire.

He wondered if Sam might be sneaking a peek at his bare metal arm. His new arm, built for him by Shuri, was much more aesthetically designed than the stark, utilitarian arm HYDRA first fitted him with. He wondered if Sam would appreciate the difference. He also wondered—a whispered thought he couldn't keep out of his brain—if Sam was looking at his muscles, if he might find him attractive.

He discreetly glanced over his shoulder. Sam was facing away, not looking at him at all. Surprisingly, he found he was disappointed. But of course Sam wouldn't look at him like that. There was no reason Sam would be attracted to him. Not to mention their circumstances—with the grit and grime of roughing it, and the pain and blood of his injury, that would be the furthest thing from his mind. Bucky mentally scolded himself for even thinking it.

He went to work easing off his wet pants, but he couldn't shake the thought of Sam looking at him. He was imagining it, imagining Sam watching him undress.

It was making him hard.

He wrapped the blanket around his waist and made his way to the fire, hoping Sam wouldn't be paying too close attention.

Sam came to sit by the fire. Neither of them talked for a minute. Then Sam said, "Maybe tomorrow I should be the one to go out hunting. I'm sure I could use a bath too."

Bucky laughed. A moment later an image rose unbidden to his mind: Sam in a bath, emerging from the water nude and dripping. It wasn't helping his comfort level.

"You smell fine to me," he said, and immediately wished he hadn't. "Besides, we can't risk your cut reopening. I'm sorry, but you're staying here."

"You got to at least let me out of the cave. I'm getting cabin fever."

"Well, I can't force you to stay," Bucky replied.

"I think you physically could. You could wrestle me to the ground and tie me up."

He wondered for a moment if Sam was doing this on purpose. Did he sound maybe a little bit flirtatious? That had to be his imagination.

"I wouldn't do that," he stated, smiling to assure Sam he knew he hadn't been serious.

Sam laughed.

Bucky loved how readily he laughed, how easily he smiled. It was even more impressive knowing what Sam had suffered in his life: watching his wingman die, being declared a criminal, imprisoned, and becoming an internationally wanted fugitive after the Sokovia Accords. To have so much in his past and still be able to smile so brightly.

"What are you staring at?" Sam asked teasingly.

Bucky hadn't realized he had been staring. "Do you mind if I ask you something kind of personal?"

"Go ahead."

"Why did you join the military?" It wasn't the question he'd intended to ask. He wasn't exactly sure what he had intended to ask, but this one felt safer. "Don't take this the wrong way, but you don't seem the type."

Sam shrugged. "I wanted to serve my country, wanted some excitement in my life. And maybe I felt like I had something to prove."

"Was it hard, where you grew up?"

Sam raised an eyebrow. "You mean was it hard being Black, being gay, or what?"

"I don't know. Just...what was your childhood like?"

"Pretty middle-of-the-road in just about every way. My folks weren't rich by any stretch, but they got by. I wasn't the most popular kid in school, but I had some good friends. Took car trips every summer to visit relatives. I didn't think it was all that great when I was in it—I thought my folks were too strict, my chores were onerous, and my classes were boring—but looking back, it was pretty good. What was your childhood like?"

"I grew up in the Great Depression. We were dirt poor, just like pretty much everyone we knew. Steve was my best friend since as far back as I can remember. He was kind of my sidekick throughout grade school."

"Your sidekick?" Sam asked in amusement.

"Not quite a sidekick. More like a mascot. A pet project, maybe. He was always the scrawny kid bullies picked on. Protecting him made me feel...heroic, I guess. Standing up for the little guy. It gave me an excuse to get in fights and feel like I was in the right."

"You liked fighting?"

Bucky shrugged. "I think I figured it impressed girls."

Sam chuckled. "That was something I never had to worry about."

"What, you never did anything dumb to impress the boys?"

"Didn't have to. My first boyfriend was the only other out boy at my high school. We thought we were made for each other. As soon as we graduated and got out into the real world we realized we really had almost nothing in common."

"Wasn't your type?"

"Not really. What about you?" he asked so quickly it sounded like he was deliberately changing the subject. "Cap says you always had at least one girlfriend. Who was your first?"

"I don't remember."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "Seriously? I knew your memory was shaky, but not even remembering your first love...that's rough."

"Yeah," Bucky agreed. He could remember some girlfriends: a kaleidoscope of names and faces he couldn't quite connect. He remembered Steve teasing him that he loved women so much that any pretty girl would do. And there was some truth to that; he couldn't think of any specific girl he'd been in love with for her own sake. It had never occured to him until now to wonder why that was.

"Maybe..." Sam said, but whatever he was going to say, he dropped it with a shrug.

"Yeah. Maybe," Bucky said. Whatever Sam had been thinking, the answer was _maybe_.


	7. The Divided Peach

It will be best  
To keep silent  
And not say what I think,  
For there is no other  
Who shares my feelings.

~Tales of Ise 124, trans. Helen Craig McCullough

* * *

Sam woke up with a throbbing pain in his hand but a pleasant warmth along his side.

This was the first time he'd woken up before Bucky; he didn't know if he was a light sleeper, and didn't think startling the former Winter Soldier by waking him unexpectedly would be a good idea. And so for a few minutes he just lay there, enjoying the warmth.

Bucky shifted, turning in his sleep. His metal arm slid across Sam's stomach. Sam decided not to push it off. It wasn't uncomfortable. The contours of the vibranium were unexpectedly warm and smooth.

Sam watched Bucky's eyes blink open. At first, those eyes seemed to hold a kind of morning contentment, like for a moment after waking Bucky didn't remember the danger they were in, or the guilt of his past. Then that contentment was replaced by confusion, then contrition. He rose and drew away from Sam.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to invade your space."

"Dude, it's fine. You were asleep. Besides, you were keeping me warm."

Bucky chuckled dryly. "Okay."

He got up and went to work coaxing the fire back to life. Sam watched, once again impressed at his skill at building a fire. Bucky was shirtless—his coat and shirt hadn't been completely dry by the time they'd retired last night—and he couldn't help but notice the way his muscles flexed as he broke braches to lay across the fire. The man was built.

Bucky turned toward him unexpectedly, catching Sam looking at him.

"You're good at that. At...stoking fires," Sam said, mentally kicking himself for that pathetic excuse for an excuse being all he could come up with.

"Thanks." Bucky turned his attention to his shirt, testing its dampness before pulling it on.

Sam sat up and looked at his hand. There was no sign of blood seeping through the wrapping this morning. That was good. As much as it hurt, it didn't feel infected. He didn't dare try to move his fingers, but he touched each of his fingertips to reassure himself there wasn't significant nerve damage. His hand might never be the same again, but he probably wouldn't lose it.

He wondered, if they had to amputate, whether Shuri would make him a prosthetic hand to match Bucky's.

If they managed to rescue Shuri.

Was she still alive? Was T'Challa still alive? Was Cap? He'd been trying not to think about it. Cap could take care of himself, and anyway Sam was in no condition to help him.

But Bucky was.

"I'm out of the woods now. I can keep myself alive for a while. You should go back and find out what happened to Cap and the Panther."

Bucky turned and stared at him hard. "You can't hunt. You might be able to gather enough firewood to keep the cave warm, but if you don't eat enough calories to keep your energy up, you'll die."

"You won't be gone long enough for that to happen. You'd be gone for a day at most."

"Unless I got killed in the attempt," he said bluntly.

"I don't think there's a huge risk of that. I've seen you in action."

"I'm not invincible." He looked down. "I do want to go back for them, but if those bots could take down Steve and T'Challa working together, I don't have much of a chance against them alone. And if I die, you die."

"Probably," Sam agreed. "The thing is, for Steve, I think it's worth the risk."

Bucky sighed and looked away. "Let's see how much food I can get today. If it's enough to sustain you for a couple of days, I'll think about it."

Sam nodded. "That's fair."

Bucky pulled on his coat and his boots, preparing to venture out.

"I've been thinking a lot lately, and I think I owe you an apology," Sam said.

Bucky frowned at him in confusion. " _You_ owe _me_ an apology? For what?"

"I've been a jerk to you. Ever since Cap and I found you. I never gave you a fair shake."

"I'd tried to kill you."

"That wasn't the reason," Sam stated. "I was jealous. You were Cap's best friend since childhood, and that's something I could never have with him, no matter how many times we saved the world together. It wasn't right of me to take it out on you."

"It's fine," Bucky assured him. He seemed slightly flustered by the apology. He forced a smile. "I had it coming."

"Have you reminded yourself it's not your fault yet today?"

His smile suddenly looked genuine. "It's not my fault." He opened the makeshift door and looked out at the snowy morning. "I'm going to get some food. I'll be back as soon as I can."

"Be careful out there."

"I will be."

When Bucky was gone, Sam sat staring at the fire. It was just his luck that as soon as he stopped hating Bucky he'd start liking him instead. It kind of made sense; Bucky had saved his life, taken care of him, cooked for him, plus he was undeniably attractive, and they were stuck together. It was just a crush. Not the first time he'd developed a crush on a straight guy. It happened. It would fade away soon enough. Either they'd start getting on each other's nerves again or they'd be rescued and go their seperate ways. Or they'd be found by the spiderbots and imprisoned or killed. At any rate, Bucky never had to know.

* * *

Last night's snow meant any tracks Bucky found would be fresh. It also meant the tracks he left could potentially signal any bots on patrol that he was still alive, and lead them back to Sam. But that was a risk they had to take.

Unlike him going back for Steve and T'Challa.

The more he thought about it, the more torn he felt. Part of him felt he had to go back, face the spiderbots alone, and at least find out what happened to his two closest friends. If it were just his life at stake, he'd do it in a second. If Steve and T'Challa were still alive, his life would be a small price to pay for the slightest chance to save them.

But Sam's life was valuable too, and Bucky actually had a realistic chance of saving it.

He cared about him. He wasn't sure exactly what he felt for Sam, but he couldn't deny that he cared about him, intensely.

To avoid leaving tracks, Bucky walked along the frozen river again. He explored beyond the lake, wondering if he could possibly find a road or a village or any other outpost of civilization where he could leave Sam in safety while he went back to the spiderbots' base.

He followed the river through a narrow canyon. It opened into a small valley with some unusual rock formations along the riverbank. When he got closer, he saw they were the remains of walls and house foundations. People had once lived here, though it had obviously been abandoned decades if not centuries ago.

Beyond the ruins of the houses he found an overgrown orchard. Partially sheltered from the wind by the cliff behind it, there were still apples on some of the trees. They were withered and had been nibbled on by birds, but they were food. He gathered them.

Then, tucked into a sheltered cleft in the hillside, he found one peach tree with a few peaches hanging from it, encased in ice. The tree must have fruited late, and a freezing rain had caught and preserved both the peaches and the apples.

He picked as much as he could carry and headed back.

* * *

Sam was entertaining himself trying to draw pictures on the rocks with the charred end of a stick with his left hand when Bucky pulled open the door. He felt a palpable relief at his return.

"How goes the hunt?" he asked jokingly.

Bucky smiled at him as he set down his coat that he'd fashioned into a makeshift sack. "You may not like what I found for dinner, but you should see what I've got for dessert."

Dinner was termites from a fallen tree he'd broken open. They actually smelled appetizing as they sizzled on the hot rock over the fire.

As they ate the termites, Bucky told him about his trek down the stream where he'd found the ruins of a village.

"So no run-ins with bots today?" Sam asked.

"No. No bots. I must have missed their patrol windows."

"Lucky," Sam said.

"Yeah."

They ate their supper in a somewhat tense silence, neither wanting to bring up the question of Bucky going back to the spiderbot base, even though it was what they were both thinking about. Sam knew he was asking Bucky to risk his life. He was reluctant to push the matter, because as much as he wanted Steve back alive, he wasn't sure he'd ever forgive himself if Bucky died trying. Not that he'd have to live with that guilt for very long.

After finishing his share of the fried termites, Bucky set out the apples and peaches on a rock ledge to thaw. He picked up one of the peaches and took a bite. It was still partially frozen, but it was soft enough to eat.

"How is it?" Sam asked.

"It's good. Here." He tossed one to him.

Sam bit into it. It was surprisingly sweet, with a strong flavor. The ice in it had crystalized as it froze, giving it a crunchy texture. It tasted like candy.

"Mmm. This is the best peach I've ever tasted."

Bucky raised his eyebrows. "Really? The best you've ever tasted?"

"Here. Try it."

He held the peach out to Bucky, who looked at it dubiously.

"If it's really the best peach you've ever tasted, you should eat it all."

Sam considered that argument. It was tempting, but he wanted to share the experience with Bucky. He wanted him to taste what he tasted, to feel what he felt. "Since we wouldn't have food at all if it weren't for you, you should have at least a bite of it."

He looked unconvinced.

"Come on, Buck. You deserve a bite. You deserve good things in your life."

Bucky took it. Sam had expected him to take a bite from the untouched side of the peach, but he took his bite from the same spot Sam had taken his, unconcerned about contamination from his saliva. It was strangely intimate, a vicarious kiss, and Sam's breath caught in his throat at the thought of it, at the thought of Bucky's lips being where his lips had been, his teeth, his tongue...

"You're right; that really is the best peach I've ever tasted." He handed it back to Sam.

He took another bite, exactly where Bucky had bitten it, and passed it back to him.

Bucky closed his eyes as he took another, larger bite.

They passed it back and forth until it was gone. Then, without comment, Bucky divided the few remaining peaches between them. He kept his eyes averted. If Sam didn't know any better, he'd swear the supersoldier was suddenly acting shy.

He didn't say anything either. He was busy replaying what happened with the peach in his head, telling himself he was reading too much into it.

Bucky made the bed of dirt over hot coals, and Sam lay down to sleep. Bucky tucked the blanket around him and banked the fire. Then he sat down with his back against a rock.

"You're not coming to bed?" Sam asked.

"You're getting stronger. I think you'll probably be okay tonight. Unless you want me to," he added hesitantly.

"Only if you want to," Sam said.

Bucky thought for a long moment, then crossed to him and climbed under the blanket next to him.

Sam tried not to read too much into this either. Even for a supersoldier immune to freezing, it would be more comfortable to sleep on dirt under a blanket than on a bare rock.

But still, he'd _wanted_ to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Divided peach" (分桃) refers to gay love, from a story of an emperor sharing a particularly delicious peach with his lover.


	8. Necessary Risk

The moon heads  
For the mountains—their hearts  
As one;  
Left behind in darkness,  
What is to become of me?

~Saigyo, Shinkokinshu XVIII: 1781, trans. Thomas McAuley

* * *

A sapphire blue light began to glow between the woven branches of the door. Bucky stared at it. He wasn't sure how long he'd been awake. He knew he'd slept because he'd had strange, vivid dreams. In one dream he'd been fighting HYDRA trying to save Steve and T'Challa. In another dream...

He turned to look at Sam, who was still sleeping. Bucky held his breath for a moment, afraid to wake him.

God, he wanted to hold him. He had the compulsive desire to wrap his arms around him.

He got up and left the cave as quickly as he could, heart pounding. He stood in the frigid dawn, trying to settle his racing thoughts and blood. He couldn't be thinking this way about Sam. Sam didn't think of him that way. Would he even be feeling like this if Sam hadn't told him he was gay? He'd never been attracted to another man before. He'd never let himself: after breaking away from being the Winter Soldier, he'd thought of love only as something he would never deserve. And before, back in the '40s, the mere possibility that he might find himself attracted to another man was something he never would have allowed himself to entertain, knowing how much derision he'd have to live with if anyone found out.

But if he wasn't falling in love with Sam, he didn't know what to call what was happening to him.

* * *

Sam knew Bucky was gone before his eyes even opened: his side felt cold, and the cave was too quiet. Rousing himself, he saw a new stack of firewood and a large log by the light of a healthy fire.

He got up, abandoning the warmth of the dirt bed to investigate.

The log was a few yards long. It would have been too heavy for an unenhanced human to carry alone. He was usually a light enough sleeper that the sound of something this big being dragged into the cave should have woken him up. He was both worried and amused that it hadn't.

He wondered at first if Bucky had brough it for a place to sit, or even a place for one of them to sleep, but from up close he could see termite tunnels though the rotted wood.

There was a pile of spruce needles, watercress, and other edible plants on the rock ledge next to the apples Bucky had gathered yesterday. He was making food storage, enough to last both of them a couple of days.

Or one of them significantly longer.

Bucky returned a few minutes later, bringing more firewood.

He paused when he saw Sam, as if he was caught doing something illicit. "You're awake," he stated.

"Yeah."

"I'll make breakfast."

He put some termites and greens on the hot slate to cook.

"Can I take a look at your hand?" Bucky asked, sounding strangely apologetic.

"Of course."

Bucky carefully removed the bandaging. Sam got a good look at his hand for the first time: the wound was an open ulcer stretching from the side of his hand across his palm to the lifeline, gleaming wetly in the firelight. Seeing it made him suddenly accutely aware of the pain. He'd seen worse injuries, but usually on people who were screaming and being carried off on stretchers, or dead.

"It's looking better," Bucky said brightly.

"Seriously?"

Bucky lightly, almost absently traced his finger up and down Sam's fingers. "How is it feeling?"

The tickling sensation of Bucky's touch was distracting Sam from the pain.

"It's feeling better," he said.

Bucky wrapped it using the last guaze from the first-aid kit. Neither of them commented on that fact.

They dished up the mush of leaves and termites to eat. Sam was pretty sure he would have found the meal disgusting under other circumstances, but right now he savored it.

Bucky ate in tense silence, avoiding eye contact.

"You've gathered a lot of firewood," Sam commented.

"Yeah."

"And enough food to last me for a few days."

Bucky didn't respond.

"You're going back, aren't you?"

Bucky looked down. "Yeah."

Sam was surprised by the twinge of fear that came with the confirmation of his suspicions. This was what he'd wanted—he was the one who'd encouraged Bucky to do it in the first place—but the thought terrified him.

Because he didn't want anything to happen to Bucky.

Steve and T'Challa might well already be dead. Bucky was alive. Bucky was alive, and unique, complex, funny, caring, and worth saving.

But he knew Bucky would give his life for the chance to save Steve and T'Challa. Sam had risked his life for Steve before, and readily would again, even though this time risking his life took the form of letting Bucky risk his.

"I plan on only doing recon. I'll only fight if I think I have a chance," Bucky said. "If you don't want me to go, I won't."

"I want you to go. If there's any chance we can save them, we gotta take it."

"If I don't come back..."

"Then I'm dead. I get that. I'm willing to take that risk."

Bucky finally looked at him, locking eyes with him. His eyes held apology, regret, gratitude, and something else.

They finished eating in silence, and Bucky got ready to go.

"Don't do anything stupid," Sam said. "I'm counting on you to come back alive."

After a moment, Bucky nodded. "I'll try."

"Take Cap's shield."

"You might need it."

"I won't. Not much good it would do me one-handed, anyway."

Bucky nodded. "Last chance to change your mind."

"Go. I'll be fine," he said quickly. "If you don't come back, I'll try to find my way to civilization, and get some help."

They both knew that was a crazy plan, but Bucky nodded again. He picked up the shield, then walked back up to Sam. For a moment he looked like he was going to say something else, his eyes lowered and mouth opened and closed silently. Then instead he stepped forward and placed a quick kiss on Sam's lips.

Before Sam could recover from the surprise of it, Bucky was gone.


	9. The Snare

Gingerly walked the hare,  
But the pheasant was caught in a snare.  
At the beginning of my life  
All was still quiet;  
In my latter days  
I have met these hundred woes.  
Would that I might sleep and never stir!

~from _Book of Songs_ Poem 70, trans. Arthur Whaley

* * *

Bucky hiked up the mountain resolutely. He was already above the tree line, and the snow was up to his knees in some places. He hadn't seen any spiderbots yet, but if any came by he would have no cover.

He kept thinking about the kiss. He didn't know what had come over him. Kissing Sam had been an impulse, one that had felt beyond his control—though through the haziness of hindsight, he didn't know if he'd been unable to stop himself or just hadn't tried. He was sure he wouldn't have done it if it hadn't been for the very real possibility he wouldn't survive hanging over his head.

If he did make it back alive, he had no idea what he was going to say to Sam. Maybe they would both pretend it never happened.

Near the top of the mountain, he found a hiding place among some boulders and waited for darkness.

He still saw no bots, even this close to their base.

Suddenly it seemed suspicious that he hadn't seen or heard any bots all day. Or yesterday, come to think of it. Had they abandoned their base? If they had, any sliver of hope for rescuing Steve and T'Challa was gone. But it also meant he would be making it back to Sam after all.

Under the cover of darkness, he slowly made his way across the site of the battle, toward the large metal door built into the rock of the mountainside. Putting away his gun and propping the vibranium shield in the snow at his feet, he punched his metal fist into the crack between the doors and forced it open.

Inside, floodlights revealed a stone floor strewn with disassembled bots and computer consoles.

There had obviously been a fight here. Had Steve and T'Challa hatched an escape plan? If so, had they won?

Whatever had happened, the base now seemed deserted. But the electricity was still on.

He walked silently, gun in one hand and Captain America's shield in the other. He heard something from a corridor. It was more a vibration, the merest impression of motion rather than sound.

And then a voice.

"Who goes there?"

The familiarity of the voice shocked him into silence for a moment. "T'Challa?!"

Steve's voice responded from somewhere out of sight. "Bucky?!"

"Steve!"

They emerged from around the corner and stared at him like they were seeing a ghost. Probably the same expression on his face.

Steve recovered from his shock first and sprinted to him, enfolding him in an embrace. "Bucky! You're alive!"

"Yeah. When I came back to look for you after the fight, you were gone. I thought the bots got you. What happened? How did you get out?"

T'Challa came up to him. They greeted each other with a Wakandan salute. "We were captured. They kept us sedated and restrained. But when I failed to check in, General Okoye called in Nakia and some of our Avenger friends to launch a search. They were able to defeat the robots and free us, as well as the kidnapped scientists."

"And Shuri?"

"She's fine. She has been working on reverse-engineering their technology, which is why we're still here. That, and we have been searching for you"

Steve added, "As soon as we were freed and figured out you weren't imprisoned in the base with us, we searched the mountainside for you. I was starting to think I'd lost you for real this time. Do you know what happened to Sam?"

"He's alive. He was injured in the fight pretty bad, but he'll live. He's sheltering in a cave down the mountain. We've been hiding out there. I came back to try to find out what happened to you. I would have come sooner, but...I couldn't risk leaving Sam until I was sure he was out of the woods."

"Thanks. That was the right call," Steve said. He looked so relieved to know Sam was alive.

"He's going to need medical attention as soon as possible. His right hand was almost severed."

"We will take him back to Wakanda," T'Challa said.

Bucky nodded. 

They got Shuri, who was overjoyed to see Bucky alive, and went to the Quinjet to go back for Sam.

Bucky smiled to himself as the Quinjet lifted off. His friends were all safe. And they were his friends. Steve, who had stood by him and fought to protect him even after he'd tried to kill him, who had stood up for him against the entire world. T'Challa, who had given him safe harbor in his country, working through the hatred he'd felt when he thought Bucky had murdered his father. Shuri, who had used her genius to free Bucky of his decades of psychological programming. And now Sam. Maybe. Hopefully. Depending on how he felt about him after the kiss.


	10. The Rescue

With downcast  
Thoughts away!  
As heaven’s clouds’  
Flighty hearts—  
That’s not how I feel

~Manyoshu 2816, from _Anthology of Classical Japanese Poetry,_ trans. Thomas McAuley

* * *

Sam slowly fed sticks to the fire.

The cave seemed so much much darker and colder with Bucky gone, and with the lurking knowledge that he might never come back. Sam had decided he would wait three days. If Bucky didn't return by then, he would set out on his own.

His chances of survival would be slim. He knew that. But a slim chance was better than none.

He thought about the kiss.

What did it mean? What had Bucky meant? Sam had been aware of his own growing fondness and attraction for Bucky over the past few days, but he thought he'd hidden it, and any hint that Bucky might feel the same he'd dismissed as his imagination. Now he wondered.

When had these feelings started? When he'd told Bucky he'd hated him at first because he was jealous of his bond with Steve, that had been true, but it might not have been all of it. If Sam had found him attractive back then, it might have been his irritation at that attraction that he projected on the subject of it.

It was just a kiss.

A kiss from a fascinating, complex, increadible, beautiful man who might already be dead.

Night fell. Sam made himself supper from termites and greens, drank some hot water, banked the fire, and wrapped up in the emergency blanket, feeling more alone than he ever had in his life.

It was deep in the night and he still wasn't asleep when he detected a shifting light. He opened his eyes and saw a circle of light like from a flashlight beam through the woven branches of the doorway.

He hadn't heard the metallic whirr of spiderbot propellers, but he couldn't think what else it could be. He had no weapons, and nowhere to hide.

"Sam?"

It was Steve's voice.

"Cap!"

As soon as he said it, it occurred to him that the spiderbots might have recorded Steve's voice. But if that was the case, it was too late.

Someone pulled the door aside.

All Sam saw at first was flashlights. Then the firelight revealed Steve, Bucky, T'Challa, and Shuri.

"You're alive!" He jumped to his feet, entirely forgetting about his injured hand for a moment before the sudden movement jarred it, shooting pain up his arm.

Steve jumped to him and hugged him. "I was afraid you were dead."

"I thought the spiderbots got you. What happened?" Sam asked.

"We can tell the story in the jet," T'Challa said. "We should go. We will take you to Wakanda for treatment."

Steve stepped back and looked at Sam's bandaged hand. "Bucky says it's bad, and I've never known him to over-exaggerate."

Sam's eyes rose to Bucky, who was keeping back, not looking at him.

Maybe he really hadn't meant anything with the kiss.

Or maybe they both just needed to get back to safety before they could figure out how they really felt.


	11. Absolution

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story has an M rating for a reason. This chapter is that reason.

What's on your mind, my dove, my coney;  
Do thoughts grow like feathers, the dead end of life;  
Is it making of love or counting of money,  
Or raid on the jewels, the plans of a thief?

Open your eyes, my dearest dallier;  
Let hunt with your hands for escaping me;  
Go through the motions of exploring the familiar;  
Stand on the brink of the warm white day.

Rise with the wind, my great big serpent;  
Silence the birds and darken the air;  
Change me with terror, alive in a moment;  
Strike for the heart and have me there.

~W.H. Auden, from _Love Speaks Its Name_ , ed. J.D. McClatchy

* * *

It felt comforting. It felt like _home_ : this cozy cottage on a peaceful lake in Wakanda.

Bucky soaked it in. He couldn't believe his time trying to survive in a cave in the wilds of central Asia had lasted less than a week. So much had happened. So much had changed.

He and Sam had barely talked on the jet back to Wakanda. They had both taken turns explaining how they'd survived, but that had been directed to Steve, T'Challa, and Shuri. They hadn't talked to each other.

And they hadn't seen each other since. That had been yesterday.

It was possible Sam didn't want to see him. It might just be too awkward. Bucky mentally kicked himself for screwing up what would have been a great friendship forged in adversity. He had to go and ruin it by giving in to this surprising, confusing attraction.

He kept waiting for those feelings to go away now that the danger was over, now that they were no longer trapped together, dependent on each other. He kept waiting for the thought of Sam to inspire the irritation it used to, instead of bringing forlorn sighs and butterflies in his stomach.

He skipped a stone across the lake and watched the circles of ripples spread out until they were lost in the waves. When he reached down for another stone, he noticed someone walking toward him along the shore. He immediately knew it was Sam.

When he was close enough that Bucky could no longer pretend he didn't know he was there, he greeted him as casually as he could. "Hey."

"Hey. They told me I could find you out here."

Bucky turned toward him, tried to think of something quippy to say, but settled for, "How's the hand?"

Sam looked down at his right hand with a smile. He closed and opened his fist, testing it. "It's great. Good as new."

"Shuri does good work," Bucky said.

Sam looked at him, looking pointedly at his bionic arm. "Yeah she does."

Bucky nodded, and finally tossed the stone he was holding at the lake. It didn't skip. "I'm glad she was able to fix you up."

"She just saved my hand. You're the one who saved my life. Thank you again for that."

"You saved my life first," Bucky reminded him.

Sam just looked at him for several seconds, then said, "We don't have to talk about it if you don't want to."

Bucky hesitated. This was the critical moment. He could either pretend he didn't know what Sam was talking about and lose any chance of exploring what he was feeling, or he could tell the truth and...he had no idea what might happen. That was what made it terrifying.

"The truth is," he finally said, "I've never felt about anyone the way I'm feeling about you, and I don't know what that means. What that means about me, what that means...for us."

Sam didn't respond for a minute, mulling over his own feelings. "It might just mean that we were stuck together for a long time, not sure if we'd survive, and that can make people do crazy things. Or it could mean... Bucky, I respect you a lot, and I'm not going to presume to tell you if what you were feeling is real or not, but I'm also not going to try and push you into something you might not be sure about. If you want, we can give ourselves some space, put some distance between us until we figure it out."

"Is that what you want?" Bucky asked, hoping Sam wouldn't pick up on the slight hurt in his voice.

"No," Sam admitted. "But what I want isn't all that matters here."

Bucky stared at him. Sam stared back steadily, waiting for his answer.

"You felt it too? You felt...something between us too?"

"Yeah. I feel it," Sam answered. "I thought it was just me, right up until you kissed me."

Bucky couldn't take his eyes off him. Just standing next to him was making his heart flutter. "Sam, do you really believe I can redeem myself for the things I've done?"

"I think anyone can change, can be better than they were, and be worthy of another chance," he answered carefully, "but you don't need it. Because you're innocent."

He continued looking at him, judging the sincerity in his expression, weighing his words. "You really believe that?"

"Yeah, I do."

Bucky had trouble accepting his own innocence, but the things Sam said made sense, and he believed in him. "Would you like to come inside?" he finally asked. "For some coffee or something?"

"Do you want me to?" Sam asked back.

"Yes."

Bucky led Sam to his cottage, which was small and sparsely furnished, but comfortable.

"I know it's not much, but it's better than a cave."

"Though you got to admit, that was a pretty nice cave," Sam said.

Bucky shrugged. "I've definitely slept in worse."

They both chuckled nervously.

Bucky turned to his small kitchenette. "I'll make some coffee."

Sam caught his hand—his metal hand—and pulled him back around. "I didn't really come here for coffee."

Bucky wondered if Sam could hear his heart pounding. He was holding his hand. Of course, their hands had touched plenty of times before as he treated Sam's injury, but this was different.

Sam trailed one finger over Bucky's palm and up and down his fingers. "I've been wondering, how much sensation do you have in this thing?"

"It...I mean, it doesn't feel like skin, it doesn't feel pain or temperature, but I can tell when it's touching something. Or when something's touching it. My new one is...a lot more...sensitive than the old one."

"And a lot better looking," Sam said. He ran his finger up Bucky's metal wrist, watching his response.

Bucky's breathing quickened.

"You sure you're sure about trying this?" Sam asked. "If you change your mind, I won't be offended."

He nodded. "I'm sure."

Sam trailed his finger along Bucky's jawline, then curled it under his chin. His thumb brushed over Bucky's bottom lip. He gasped at the tingling sensation it provoked.

Sam moved closer slowly. Bucky didn't dare move.

"You're not afraid of me?" he whispered when Sam was inches away.

"No. Not anymore." Sam closed the gap. Their lips connected. Sam's hand went from Bucky's chin to the back of his neck.

Bucky moaned. His lips parted to deepen the kiss, but Sam drew back. He rested his forehead on Bucky's.

"How was that?" he asked.

"That was...that was good for me," Bucky breathed.

"Me too. I know this is new for you, so we can take this at whatever pace you want. If—" He was cut off by Bucky's lips latching over his again.

This kiss lasted longer, went deeper as Bucky's lips and tongue moved hungrily. He wrapped his arms around Sam's back to pull him against him.

They just kissed for a few minutes, then Bucky drew back. His fingers slid their way to the top button of Sam's shirt. "May I?"

Sam swallowed, and nodded.

Bucky unbuttoned his shirt slowly, eyes taking in each new inch of Sam's chest his actions revealed. He slid Sam's shirt off his shoulders and draped it over a chair, then stood staring at him.

"My turn." Sam lifted Bucky's shirt off, and dropped it over the chair on top of his.

Bucky slowly lifted his right hand and ran it down Sam"s chest and abs. "I'm not really sure what I'm supposed to do," he admitted.

"If it feels good, you're doing it right."

Bucky moved forward, pulling Sam against him by his beltloops, and buried his lips in his neck.

Sam moaned. He shifted against Bucky, felt his arousal against his own.

Bucky's lips found their way to Sam's again. His hands ran down Sam's back.

Sam's fingers slid beneath Bucky's waistband. His fingertips slid around his hips, his abs. He trailed his fingers along his zipper, then slowly pulled it down.

Bucky shivered as Sam's fingers began exploring inside his pants. At first, they just lightly brushed against his erection.

"Oh, God... Sam..."

"Want more?"

"Yes please."

He wrapped his hand around his shaft and stroked it while kissing him hard.

Bucky felt he was close, seconds away from coming, when he clasped Sam's hand and drew it out.

"Sorry," Sam mumbled quickly.

"You didn't do anything I didn't want," Bucky assured him between breaths. "I just want to see you." His eyes traveled down and back up his body. "I want to see...all of you."

Sam smiled, and stripped off his pants.

Bucky couldn't help but stare. Every detail of Sam's body was glorious, as if chiseled from marble.

"You're making me embarrassed," Sam joked.

"Don't be. You're amazing." Bucky kissed Sam again, letting their bodies drift together. He'd been worried it would feel awkward, since he'd never been with a man before, but it didn't. It felt natural. It felt right.

His hands wandered over Sam's bare skin, exploring his muscles. Hesitantly, the fingers of his right hand found Sam's erection. It was smooth and hard. He'd only wanted to pleasure Sam, but was surprised to find the feel of it in his hand was sharply arousing. He trailed his fingertips around it.

Sam hummed in approval, sending vibrations through Bucky's lips and tongue.

Bucky broke off the kiss and dropped to his knees.

"You don't have to do this if you're not ready," Sam told him.

"Let me. I want to." He took Sam's erection in his mouth. He was rewarded with Sam's groan of pleasure.

Bucky felt a twinge of guilt, not over his current activities, but for his past ignorance. He would have once found the thought of doing this disgusting, but nothing about Sam disgusted him. Everything about him was wonderful. He ran his hands up his muscular thighs and glutes.

Sam took Bucky's face in his hands and drew himself out.

"Was I doing it wrong?" he asked.

"No. That felt great. I just don't want to come yet." He knelt down in front of him and kissed him.

Bucky lifted Sam's legs around his hips and stood, carrying him to his bed. Sam rolled over, pinning Bucky beneath him. Their bodies molded against each other: lips to lips, chest to chest, cock to cock.

After several minutes, Sam's lips pulled away from his. He kissed his way across Bucky's jaw, down his neck, across his shoulder, across his chest. He bit his nipple, then sucked it. Bucky quivered at the unexpected pleasure of the sensation.

Sam's mouth resumed its wandering, dragging his lips and tongue in a circuitous but generally downward path over his ribs, his stomach, trailing open-mouthed kisses lower and lower. Finally his lips slid over his cock. He stayed there for a minute, rolling the tip between his lips and tongue. Then he started to suck.

Bucky gasped. He gripped his bedding and bit his lip, trying to last just a little longer.

In this moment, nothing else mattered but Sam. The years of being under HYDRA's control, the assassinations... In this moment, he felt absolved. Because Sam believed he was innocent. Sam believed he was worthy.

He came with a gasp, going rigid for a moment before melting into his bed.

Sam kissed his way back up Bucky's torso, then rested his head on his chest.

Neither of them spoke for while.

"That was amazing," Bucky said.

"Thanks."

Alfter laying there panting for a minute, he thought to ask, "Is there anything you want me to do for you?"

"You've already done it for me. I'm done. I hope you've got clean sheets."

They both laughed.

A minute later, Bucky quietly asked, "What happens next?"

Sam shifted, raising his head to look at him. "What do you want to happen?"

Bucky had been pondering that question. Did he want to ask Sam to stay in Wakanda, so he could be close to him? Did he want to leave Wakanda, now that he was cured of HYDRA's conditioning?

"I don't know," he said.

"You're not an internationally wanted fugitive anymore," Sam said. "You could move back to the States, join the Avengers."

"I doubt I would be welcome by everyone."

"Not saying it would be easy, but after everything that's happened, I think Tony would come around."

Bucky stared at his ceiling. "Maybe. Or maybe you could take some time off, stay here for a while. With you, me, T'Challa, and Okoye, we could form a team based out of Wakanda."

"That could be fun," Sam agreed. "Or you and I could take a vacation, just the two of us, see what this turns into."

Bucky smiled. Sam seemed to always know exactly the right thing to say.

"Sounds like a plan."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end. Thank you for reading!


End file.
